


Our King Will Return

by hepcatliz



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Arthurian Legend AU, F/M, Harry Hart Lives!, M/M, Merlin is Merlin, yes that Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepcatliz/pseuds/hepcatliz
Summary: Merlin was there in the end, watched his king fall on the battlefield at Camlan.  He watched as Arthur was prepared for the journey to Avalon.Turning to the men gathered around him, he spoke with a certainty he didn't feel, but knew the others needed to hear.“He will return.  When we need him most, when hispeopleneed him most, our king will return.”And he watched in silence as the boat moved away from the shore, disappearing into the fog.*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*What follows is a story of Merlin, the Quartermaster of Kingsman, in fact Merlin of old, wizard and closest ally of King Arthur.words byhepcatliz, art bybosendorfer





	Our King Will Return

Merlin was there in the end, on the battlefield at Camlan. They had been fighting since dawn, every little bit of ground taken from the usurper's forces was fiercely held, but they were losing inches as the day progressed. Wiping blood from his face, Merlin found himself separated from his king. He turned in a slow circle, searching the field for a sign of Arthur. He growled when his eyes caught the bastard Mordred, fighting his way to the king.

Merlin hacked and shoved his way through the fray, his eyes never leaving Arthur. Seeing Mordred’s progress was better than his own, his frustration grew - the bastard was flanked by supporters, while Merlin moved on his own. He cursed the gods for slowing him, praying for a clear path with his next breath. Blocking a blow to his head, he lost track of the bastard. He dispatched the attacker, his breath catching in his throat when he found Mordred again, charging towards Arthur.

Arthur was alone, armed with only a spear, Excalibur lost in the battle. Merlin felt time slow, and yet he had no time to act, no time to protect his king. He watched, horrified, as Mordred charged forward, sword raised. Watched the spear in Arthur’s hands thrust into the bastard’s heart. Watched the bastard’s sword come down, slicing through Arthur’s helmet and into his skull. 

Merlin screamed, with rage and pain and fury, as he watched his king fall to the ground. Joined by Bedivere and Percival, they raced to their fallen king. The sight of the enraged wizard cleared their path, no one on either side wanting to get in his way. Ignoring everything around him, he focused on Arthur, gathering his magic as he dropped to his knees. He murmured quietly, gathering every ounce of strength, praying to any god that would listen. He ran his hands up Arthur’s body, his voice remaining steady while his heart pounded in his chest.

With his remaining eye, Arthur searched for the source of the power he felt near him. Catching Merlin’s gaze, Arthur grasped weakly at his tunic. “Emrys, please help me ...”

Merlin nodded, frowning, and continued his chant. He saw Bedivere kneel across from him, placing Excalibur back in its rightful hand. 

Arthur shuddered, grasping the sword tight. “Bedivere, you must prom … promise me.”

Bedivere leaned in close, Arthur’s words barely audible over the growing noise of Merlin’s chanting. “Anything, my lord.”

“You must return Excalibur. I fear I am not long for this world and it must be protected. Promise me Bedivere, promise me you will return it to the Lady of the Lake.”

Merlin saw Arthur’s strength wane with each word. He watched as tears fell from Bedivere’s eyes, knowing he saw the same.

“I promise, my lord. I promise I will protect Excalibur. I promise I will return it to the Lady of the Lake.”

Arthur sagged, eye losing focus when he heard Bedivere’s vow. Merlin’s voice grew, ringing loud and clear, the final words of the spell releasing into Arthur and the growing gloom. Breathing heavily he looked about, calling for Arthur’s knights to gather.

“We must move him. Now.”

Merlin kept close to his king as they removed Arthur from the battlefield. The spell he cast was powerful, but Merlin could only hope Arthur would survive the trip. Arthur’s most loyal knights made the trek with him, to the one place Merlin knew Arthur would be safe from harm.

The boat was waiting for them when they arrived. Morgana stood on the shore, attendants making ready to ferry the king across the water. Merlin embraced her, taking a moment’s comfort before pulling back.

“I’ve done what I can, but his wounds are beyond my abilities. You must help him Morgana, Avalon is the only place that can heal him.”

She frowned, looking over to Arthur. “You know the price that must be paid Emrys, are you sure he is worth the cost?”

Merlin nodded. “Giving part of my heart is a small price to pay to save him. He must survive, we need him to survive.” He followed her gaze and his heart stuttered in his chest. _I need him to survive_.

Morgana pulled him close, kissing his temple. “We will do what we can Emrys, this I promise.”

He stepped back, allowing Morgana to return to her task. Merlin joined the other knights, gathered on the shore and watched as Arthur was lifted onto the boat. He felt Bedivere grasp his shoulder, looked over to see tears flowing freely from the young knight’s eyes. He squeezed his hand, feeling tears of his own wet his cheeks. 

He turned to the men gathered around him. “He _will_ return.” Merlin spoke with a certainty he didn’t feel, but knew the others needed to hear. “When we need him most, when his _people_ need him most, our king will return.”

They watched in silence as the boat moved away from the shore, disappearing into the fog. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*

Merlin woke slowly, beyond exhausted, pain radiating from his heart out to every limb. His head pounded, even the dim glow from the fire too much. Groaning, he turned away from the light. 

“Good, you’re awake.”

He smiled, hearing the familiar voice, _Nimue_. “Not awake,” he grumbled, “and please, my love, stop shouting.” He felt the bed dip and a familiar weight pressed against his back. 

“I’m not shouting. Come,” Nimue pulled on his shoulder, “drink this.”

Merlin grunted, but turned towards the woman, allowing her to lift his head to drink from the flask in her hands. He grimaced at the bitter taste, but finished the draught. Satisfied, she helped him settle back against the pillows. He watched her from the bed as she moved easily around the space, nearly dancing from spot to spot, cleaning the supplies used for the concoction he downed. Which, much to his delight, was working very quickly. 

“Your skills have improved, love.” Merlin reached out, beckoning her closer. He grinned when she sat on the bed, pulling her to lay next to him. He stroked her long, dark hair, moving a strand away from her face. “We must devise something that will dazzle Arthur.”

Nimue reached for his hand, concern clouding her features. “Merlin,” she said softly, “Arthur is gone.”

Shaking his head in denial, Merlin frowned, searching her face. 

“My love, you must remember. You were _there_.”

Merlin’s face fell, suddenly remembering. He whimpered as flashes of the battle passed through his mind; the fighting, the bastard Mordred, his king on the ground. He sobbed when he remembered the boat, Arthur on his way to Avalon. Nimue held him close as he broke down, letting his tears soak her tunic, stroking his back as he cried. Comforting him until his tears dried, she looked down to find he had fallen asleep. Kissing his head, she lowered him back to the bed muttering an incantation to keep his night free of dreams, and left him to sleep.

Days passed, Merlin rarely leaving his bed. Nimue stayed, forcing him to drink and eat, enchanting his sleep as she had done before. By week's end she found herself resenting his sloth, pushing him to get up and bathe, ignoring his grumbling.

“I don’t care who has died,” she groused, scrubbing at his back with a wet cloth. “You must take care of yourself.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, turning to look back at her. “It wasn’t just anyone who died Nimue. It was our king, my king.” He sighed heavily, “It was _Arthur_.” His head dropped to his chest, “I am doing the best I can.”

Nimue scrubbed at his neck, working up to his head. “We have a new king, love. It is time you come to accept that.”

Merlin bristled under her hands. “It’s not that simple Nimue. You know the price that was paid.”

Nimue pushed away from him, dropping the cloth in his lap. “I do know Merlin. But he was just a man,” she said sternly, crossing her arms. “You carrying on like this is ridiculous.”

Merlin scrubbed angrily at his arms. “He was not just a man to me. I loved him and part of me was taken with him. I know you didn’t care for him,” he looked up to meet her eyes, imploring, “but please Nim, please understand.”

Nimue sighed, and leaned in to take the cloth from his hands. “I love you Merlin.” She scrubbed at his legs, not meeting his eyes. “I never liked sharing your heart, but I will try. For you Merlin, I will try.”

Nimue remained, and as the days wore on her frustration grew, Merlin’s listlessness grating on her nerves. Her attempts at enchanting his food and drink, little charms to pull him from his grief, ended up wasted power. Her only solace in these days were quiet nights with Merlin tucked into her arms, stroking his hair as he burrowed deeper into her chest. Just the two of them, time when Nimue had his heart all to herself. And if she used this time to bolster her power, leaching slowly from him, he was none the wiser.

One cold day, Nimue returned from the village with their weekly provisions, to find Merlin collapsed near the fire. She dropped her basket and raced to him, falling to her knees. “Merlin! Love, what is wrong?”

Merlin looked up, tears streaming down his face. Clutched in his hands was a belt, beautifully worked. “I was going to meet you on the road,” his voice hitched as he spoke, “I was dressing and found this.” He held the belt up for her to see. “He gave this to me. The last thing Arthur gave to me.”

Nimue stood, stepping away from him. “I can’t take any more of this,” she growled, “enough Merlin!”

Merlin looked up, finding her dark features flushed in anger. “I am trying Nim, I am.” He shrank back from her, clutching the belt to his chest, “but how do you expect me to move on? It is not easy when there are reminders of him everywhere.”

Nimue sighed heavily, “I never said it would be easy Merlin, but you _have_ to move on. He is gone, and he is not coming back.”

Her words pricked at him, and he stood, still clutching the belt. “He will return, I made sure of it.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I have no doubt you worked a grand enchantment Merlin, but there is no spell great enough to bring someone back from the dead.”

His eyes narrowed as he moved closer, crowding her against the table. “You are wrong Nimue, I paid the price. Morgana and the Guardians of Avalon will take care of him. He will be back.”

Nimue laughed, the sound shrill in the quiet room. “Merlin! Do you really think he made it to Avalon alive? Your love makes you blind, you fool of a man, you can’t see the truth in front of you. He died on that boat, Morgana buried him on Avalon.” She leaned into his space, sneering at him, “he is never, _never_ , coming back.”

Merlin’s knees buckled at the force of her words, and he collapsed to the floor. He couldn’t stop the sob as he hit the ground, still clutching the belt to his chest. “Why must you be so cruel Nimue?” His words stuttered as he fought to control his sobbing. “You know as well as I the power I control. The enchantment worked, the price was paid.” He looked up, pleading with her, “Why can you not believe he will return?”

“He will never return.” _Finally_ , she thought, _the time I have been waiting for_. Nimue took a deep breath, reaching out to gather every bit of power within her grasp. Inwardly she crowed in triumph, pulling every drop from Merlin’s weakened state. She spoke clearly, hands moving in time with her evocation.

“But _you_ will live Emrys, a life longer than any should live. You will _never_ see him return.” Her voice rang clear in the quiet hall. “ _You will live your life without ever seeing your precious Arthur again_.”

With a final motion of her hands, Nimue released the curse. Collapsing onto the table, she breathed heavily, exhausted from expending so much energy. She looked down at Merlin, collapsed completely on the floor, and shook her head. “I could have been enough, we could have shared a great power, but you couldn’t see past him. So be it. Enjoy your long, lonely life, my love.”

-

Merlin woke shivering. He opened his eyes but found little difference from the darkness around him. He groaned in pain, every bit of him aching. He felt hollowed out, wondering idly how something so empty could feel such pain. He vaguely remembered Nimue, his power pulled from him, the echoes of her curse. Tears fell from his eyes as he crawled to his bed. As he pulled a blanket over himself, his thoughts returned to the water, Arthur taken to Avalon. He fell asleep, troubled, wondering for the first time if the price he paid was enough.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*

Upon hearing of the Round Table’s disbanding, knights killed on the field or scattered to the wind, Merlin decided he could no longer stay at his stone hall and made plans to set up closer to the coast. If Arthur was to return, he would come back where the fighting was worst, and the coastal tribes saw the brunt of these clashes.

The following handful of years were the hardest of Merlin’s life. Heartbroken and betrayed, stripped of his power, he learned to fend for himself all over again. He didn’t realize how dependent he had become on his power, how so many things he once considered simple tasks—lighting a fire, feeding his animals—now occupied the majority of his time. Focusing on his basic needs kept him distracted, there was simply no time to dwell on his heartbreak, and by the end of the day he was often too exhausted to do more than collapse into a dreamless sleep. 

Not all of his nights were dreamless, however, despite this bone deep exhaustion. He was prone to nightmares on the days surrounding the full moon, awful dreams reliving Arthur’s death, watching him die on the battlefield, never making it to Avalon. He suspected it was remnants of Nimue’s curse and prepared as best he could, downing herbal sleeping draughts and working himself harder than most days.

If his time at the coastal cottage taught him anything, it was the extent of Nimue’s curse. Robbed of his powers, Merlin was like any other man, save one detail: he never aged. He worked himself to the bone, harder than he worked in his entire life, and fully expected the strain to show. It never did, the same, unchanging face was always reflected back. His trips to the local village became more sporadic, for fear of being found out—as simply a man, no powers to his name. With each visit he listened carefully for any sign of Arthur’s return, ignoring Nimue’s words in his head. He returned home each time disappointed, but kept hope that it was just a matter of time before he saw his king again. The years added up and with no word of Arthur, Merlin decided he needed to widen his net. 

For nearly a millennia Merlin roamed the island, never truly settled, spending hardly more than a dozen years in any one place. Welcomed as a bard, he traveled to all corners, and in return for his songs he received news from the area. He listened for any trace of Arthur, seeking out the worst battlefields. He helped as many as he could on these fields, grateful his healing skills were not tied to his power. Through the long years there were a handful of times Merlin was certain of Arthur’s return, the threat to his people so clear and dire, only to watch the threat pass without even a whisper of his king. Vikings, Normans, nearly one hundred straight years of war with the French, and nothing. Arthur hadn't returned and the seed of doubt he harboured for an age started to plant roots. 

The fall of Gascony and England's defeat in France was a turning point. Quiet thoughts given a new voice, Nimue's words rang a louder in his ears. _If that wasn’t enough for Arthur to return, perhaps she was right. Maybe he will never return_. He retreated from the world, finding himself pulled to the small range of mountains at the centre of the country. The lands were abundant enough to sustain him, but remote enough to keep others away. The quiet part of Merlin's heart that longed to settle down should have been happy, but there was nothing happy about these years. Through these dark centuries Merlin was haunted by his worst memories. Once only visited in dreams, he lived them again as if it were the first time. 

His madness grew as the decades passed, spending more and more time in the past. His doubt grew apace with the madness, Nimue's words as real and painful as they had been hundreds of years before. He no longer argued with her as he did once, but found himself grudgingly agreeing with her shade. _Maybe you were right Nim. Maybe I was wrong and I will never see him again_. There were rare moments of clarity, times when he craved the company of other people. These journeys to the villages surrounding the mountains were few and far between, perhaps once in a generation. He seldom stayed long, the tiny flame of hope easily extinguished at the same news, always no word of Arthur. So he returned to his mountain home, more dejected than when he left.

Decades turned to centuries and Merlin started hearing familiar rumblings: trouble with France. Revolution, a man called Napoleon, and rumours of the king's failing health. Unable to ignore the warning call, that little flame of hope for so long languishing, burned a little brighter. Feeling new hope again, fleeting and slight as it was, pushed Merlin to fight his madness. It was not an easy task, struggling against this thing that enveloped him like a cloak, but the dark cloak had no place in his new, hopeful world. When he finally emerged from the mountains, feeling more himself than he had in hundreds of years, the threat had passed. 

Merlin made a promise to himself, to never lose hope again. Even if centuries turned to millennia, he would not lose hope that England's king, his Arthur, would return.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:* 

Merlin had always been a clever man, powers or no, but he was astounded by the changes he found in the world beyond the mountains. He was delighted to learn and discover so many new things, finding modern technology orderly and methodical, much like magic. The ease of obtaining information meant Merlin no longer had to travel so extensively, allowing him to focus on his studies. With the turn of a new century and news of tensions in Europe, he was troubled. Each new update from abroad, more countries joining the fight alongside England, only solidified Merlin’s certainty his king would return. It was a blow when the Armistice was signed without a whisper of Arthur. Merlin would not lose hope, but he had to be realistic. If the Great War was not enough to bring back the king, then Merlin would do all he could to protect his country in his stead.

While still a formidable warrior, Merlin determined he was better suited to intelligence, joining the ranks of the fledgling MI6 division. An interesting thing happened during his stint with the foreign intelligence agency: he began to feel _power_. Occupied with a set of schematics, he felt a long forgotten shiver run through his body. He began to feel it often when working, a low buzz in his hands, fingers, and arms. He was excited by this development, but not foolish enough to expend what little power he felt on a spell, instead storing what he could for use on a greater purpose.

Rumours about his unchanging appearance forced Merlin to leave MI6, but he didn’t go far. He easily moved to MI5, still hopeful of finding Arthur, but remained pragmatic, doing what he could in his King’s absence. Gossip from another generation meant a move back to MI6, and Merlin felt something new: a _pull_. It was like nothing he had felt in his long, long life. It was different than the buzz he’d felt for a few decades; this was a steady pressure, almost a physical tugging on his heart. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, and while not ignoring it completely, he continued with his work. This work lead him to Kingsman, an independent intelligence organization with friendly ties to the government.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that he found them, this organization styling themselves after the Knights of the Round Table. The more he learned of them, the more Merlin felt it was where he needed to be. He joined their ranks under the quartermaster, an older man with the title Merlin. Their wizard recognized something in Merlin right from the off, intent on grooming him to take over his position. Merlin began running missions, working closely with R & D, and assisting in Knight trials. The former Galahad died during the Iranian hostage crisis and the wizard considered this cohort a trial of his own for the new Merlin.

Time stopped when Merlin entered the dormitory to meet the candidates. Clutching his clipboard tight enough his knuckles turned white, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. After all this time, here he was: Arthur at last. 

He had so much time to play out how their reunion would go, but Merlin never planned for this. He looked over the group of young men, lingering on each one, hoping for a flash of recognition from Arthur’s eyes. But there was nothing. Arthur—no, his notes told him this was Harrison Hart—only thrust out his jaw in defiance at the older man’s gaze. Merlin managed to get through his introduction with his menace intact, barely closing the door to his office, before breaking down. 

Merlin had no doubt this was Arthur, his king returned. With his most fervent hope finally realized, his mind reeled, running through every possible reason Arthur didn’t recognize him. In his haste to work the enchantment, did he account only for body and not for spirit? Was the price he paid not enough to return Arthur intact? Merlin sobbed, but he couldn’t suppress the joy he felt, falling to the floor laughing, clutching his stomach. Eventually he righted himself, wiping the tears from his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He breathed a couple deep breaths, gathering his wits. There would be time to figure that out later, he thought, right now he had candidates to test and a room to flood.

-

He couldn’t help seeing glimpses of Arthur in everything the young man did, but he worked hard to separate the king from his impressions of the man. Harry was the youngest of his cohort, clearly standing out as the best of them. Merlin understood why the elder wizard insisted on a range of dog breeds for the candidates to pick from, but the cheek for Harry to choose the Cairn terrier over the larger breeds? He quickly learned this was standard behavior for the young man. He was pleased when Harry won the trial, accepting the title of Galahad, Merlin accepting his new position as Kingsman’s wizard not long after. It was satisfying to be called by his name again after so long, even more so to hear it in Harry’s voice. 

The _pull_ tugged hardest on Galahad’s most dangerous missions. Merlin endeavoured to protect all of the Knights, devising gadgets and protocols to assist them in the field, but he would be lying if he didn’t have Harry in mind when planning them out. Even the lowliest tech knew Galahad was hardly without his umbrella, though none would have accused Merlin of favouritism when he introduced the Rainmaker. Merlin was very pleased when he finally found a use for the small source of power at his disposal. While not a full out protection, he was able to imbue Harry’s gadgets with an extra layer of defense, a little extra luck to ensure the Knight returned.

Merlin was never as frustrated with Galahad as his staff was, unsure if it was his history with Arthur or his growing friendship with Harry that allowed him to see past the cheek. He monitored as many of Harry’s missions as he could, giving his agents a break from “that little shit Galahad”. As Merlin came to know Harry, he often wondered if this was the man Arthur _could_ have been, free from the weight and responsibility of leadership. He was also troubled by his growing affection for Harry, unsure if his love for the man he remembered was clouding his feelings for the man he knew now. 

Any doubts of Arthur’s return were dispelled when he trained the next cohort of candidates, as among the group of young men Merlin saw another familiar face. Dagonet looked back—not recognizing Merlin standing before him—and he knew instantly this was their new Gawain. Merlin was pleased to see so many familiar faces, though they rarely matched their names of old - Percival’s proposal for the Percival title the single exception. This new generation of agents were drawn together, each new candidate trial adding another of Arthur’s most trusted allies to Kingsman’s Table. 

Merlin continued creating new protocols and gadgets, his vigilance growing with each returned knight. Preparing background information for Lancelot, he was struck dumb when he accessed Valentine’s files. _Nimue_. He gaped at the screen, the dark eyes of his betrayer staring back at him. In his long life, he never once thought he would see her again, the woman who took everything from him. He wondered if she was like the rest, returned in body but not in spirit, or if she had used his power to extend her own life. Regardless, her presence was a bad omen, and Merlin spent every spare moment investigating the woman called Gazelle. 

Lancelot’s death hit Merlin harder than any of the previous Knights. James Spencer was a flash bastard, he fit right in with the other returned knights though he wasn’t one himself. He was prone to off-book missions without his glasses, and if Merlin had been aware he was tracking Valentine he would have done _something_ to protect him. The only positive result of his death was the return of Bedivere—a cocky young man from South London—and Lancelot—an intelligent young woman of means. Merlin trusted his instincts; Roxanne Morton was Lancelot, no question, but he also knew there was nothing to gain in puzzling over the magic. He could think himself in circles trying to figure out how the Round Table was still connected, how they found each other again after death and rebirth. Instead he focused on protecting the knights of old, and getting to know the people they had become.

It was hard for Merlin, knowing one of the returned nights would not be welcomed to the Table. He discussed the candidates with Harry, as he had with many of the cohorts, but he longed to talk with _Arthur_. Merlin was tired of holding back, and as much as he cherished his friendship with Harry he couldn’t help still feel the loss of his king. 

Knowing the trial would have to end at some point, Merlin choose not to question Chester’s insistence he administer Eggsy’s dog test. Eggsy impressed him thoroughly in the trials but he knew Harry would be disappointed with his protégé. He could hear it in Harry’s voice when he relayed new intel from Lock & Co, and focused instead on preparing for his upcoming mission. Whatever this test Valentine had planned for the Kentucky church, it would require all his attention.

-

Merlin watched transfixed as Harry fought his way through the congregation. He shouted in vain, trying to get Harry’s attention, no idea what had overcome him, but nothing could stop whatever was happening. He watched as Harry staggered from the church, bodies everywhere, and then he saw her, _Nimue_. Merlin felt time slow, panic rising in his chest, when he realized what was about to happen. _Not again oh gods no not again_. He watched helplessly as Valentine raised a gun and pulled the trigger. 

Merlin couldn’t move, could only stare blankly at the pale blue screen in front of him. How the fuck had he let it happen again? All the pain, all the power lost, all his plans for nothing. His king was dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*

There was nothing more Merlin could do. If Valentine had biometrics there was no way he could hack his system. With every tiny scrap of power he had left, Merlin pleaded to the gods to let Eggsy succeed. With Arthur gone, Bedivere was their only hope. From the screen he watched Eggsy fight his way back to the ballroom while tracking the progress of Valentine’s signal across the planet. 

As Merlin watched the green threads of poison work quickly through Gazelle’s body, his mind split. The part that once loved Nimue sobbed in despair, the part that never forgot her betrayal cheered at her demise. When she dropped to the floor his breath was knocked out of him as a bolt of energy coursed through his body. He had no time to dwell on the sensation, with Valentine’s hand still on the panel he barely had time to catch his breath before shouting at Eggsy to _just fucking get on with it!_

Merlin slumped back in his chair, Valentine dead and the signal finally ended, taking a moment to whisper a quiet thanks. Never before had he felt so close to the end. If it wasn’t for Eggsy and Roxy, for the influence of the gods … he shook his head, not willing to follow that train of thought. Satisfied that Roxy was safe for the moment, and help for Valentine’s prisoners was en route, Merlin closed his monitors, allowing Eggsy privacy with his princess and time for himself to sort through what he was feeling. 

Pacing the length of the plane, Merlin tried to place the nearly familiar hum in his body. He couldn’t stop the laugh when he rubbed at the stubble on the back of his head, memories of Harry Hart flooding his mind. Of all the things to change in his millennia of life, he never expected to lose his hair. The fucking peacock, for years making him clean up after his “manners maketh man” nonsense, he was truly amazed he had any hair left.

He froze mid-stride when a series of images popped unbidden into his mind. _Harry. Flat on the tarmac in front of Mission Glade church. In an ambulance, EMTs working desperately around him. In a hospital bed, half his head wrapped in bandages_. Merlin dropped into one of the chairs, struggling to make sense of what he saw. He rubbed at his chest, feeling that familiar _pull_ tugging at his heart. _It couldn’t be_ , he thought, _Harry was dead_. There was no way anyone could survive a point blank shot to the head. The trio of scenes played over and over in his head—tarmac, ambulance, hospital—and the _pull_ tugged harder with each repeat. He dropped his head between his knees, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to stop the panic mounting in his chest.

And then it hit him, Merlin finally placed the familiar hum in his body. Sitting up slowly, he recognized not panic but _power_ growing inside him. It had been so long since he felt anything more than a trickle, but there was no denying the depth and breadth of what he was feeling now. Oh gods, to have his power back? Tears of joy fell from his eyes as his mind spun, doors closed for so long now flung open, near infinite possibilities at his fingertips. He didn’t know how it was possible, but thought instead of the first spell he ever learned and conjured a small flame in the palm of his hand. Grinning like a fool, he laughed at the sight of flames tumbling over his fingers like water. 

Merlin grimaced, dousing the flame in his fist, as his heart wrenched in his chest. _Harry_. He sat back in the chair, closing his eyes once more and focused on the last image of Harry in a hospital bed, head wrapped in bandages. Breathing slowly and steadily, he let the image gain more detail in his mind, seeing a hospital room packed with patients and equipment. In his mind he followed a nurse from the room, down a hallway, towards a nurse’s station when he heard what he was looking for. _Pikeville Medical Centre, how can I direct your call?_ Merlin opened his eyes, plans already forming in head. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*

He felt a strange déjà vu, following a nurse down the corridor. It was nearly how he pictured it, the hospital crammed with patients, Kentucky not unaffected by Valentine’s signal. Merlin could sense Roxy’s unease, could nearly hear Eggsy’s thoughts, _should have stopped it sooner, saved so many more people_. He shook his head; he had no time for regrets now, not when Harry was so close. He frowned as the nurse stopped in front of a closed door, turning to them all.

“The doctor will be by shortly to go into more detail, but you should prepare yourselves before you go in.” Her expression softened as she looked from face to face. “He is alive, survived this … whatever this was. You three are some of the lucky ones.”

Merlin nodded his agreement, not able to speak around the lump in his throat. She had no idea how lucky they really were. Arthur, alive. Eggsy squeezed his shoulder and he felt comforted, reaching up to squeeze the younger man’s hand.

Satisfied with her warning the nurse turned to the door. The room was as packed as the hallways, though with what looked like more serious cases. She paused once more before pulling back the curtain. Merlin heard Eggsy gasp behind him, the clinical part of his brain cataloging Harry’s injuries. The larger part of him was simply happy to see Harry alive, real and breathing, in the hospital bed in front of him.

Merlin moved to Harry’s side as the nurse checked his vitals. Content with what she saw, she looked over to Merlin. “Like I said, the doctor should be by shortly, but they did what they could and believe he’ll wake soon.” She smiled when she saw Merlin reach for Harry’s hand, covering long fingers with his own. “We just need to wait until he’s ready.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, with a small smile. “We thought we lost him forever.”

The nurse looked to Eggsy and Roxy, then back at Merlin. “We’re just glad he’s not a John Doe anymore. That Mr. Hart has a family to go home to.”

Eggsy wiped at the tears on his cheeks, tugging Roxy to Harry’s other side. “That he does. Thank you.”

The nurse nodded, still smiling, before pulling the curtain around them and leaving the room.

“Holy fuck Merlin,” Eggsy whispered, gesturing to the swath of bandages covering half of Harry’s head. “How can he be here? How the fuck did he survive a bullet to the head?”

Merlin frowned, rubbing his thumb absently over Harry’s hand. “I don’t know Eggsy. We may find an answer one day, but right now … right now I can’t even begin to …” He looked up at Eggsy and sighed. “I just don’t know, lad.”

“I guess the how doesn’t matter,” Roxy said, huffing a short breath, “not really. Not when we have him back.”

Merlin grinned. “You’re right Roxy. We have him back. The how can wait.”

It wasn’t long before the doctor arrived, confirming what the nurse had told them earlier. Merlin was frustrated by their lack of answers, that despite his injuries the medical team expected Harry to have woken not long after his surgery, and were now in a “wait and see” situation. The news of his family arriving gave them hope, that familiar voices would get through to him.

The next few days were familiar for Merlin and Eggsy: the bedside vigil, surrounded by quietly humming machines, willing Harry to wake. Merlin convinced Eggsy to take a break, a few hours away to eat and shower. The lad had grinned sheepishly, admitting he was starting to smell a little ripe, allowing Roxy to usher him from the room.

Finding himself nearly alone in the room, Merlin settled in the chair at Harry’s side. “We should have some time to ourselves,” he said quietly, leaning a little over the bed and carefully holding Harry’s hand between his own. “There are things I should have told you long ago Arthur, apparently it takes two deaths and a millennia to find the words.

“I think you knew then, how much we all loved you. The entire Table was there because of their love for you. But it took you fucking dying for me to realize I loved you more than a brother.” He narrowed his eyes, looking up at Harry’s sleeping face. “I think you knew that too, but maybe time has blurred those memories. And then you came back, Arthur, you finally came back, but it wasn’t you.” Merlin laughed, rueful smile on his face. “Harry Hart, the fucking peacock. You did it again, you know, drew those that loved you to the Table. They’re all here, whether they know you or not, and they love you.”

Merlin heaved a sigh, leaning further over the bed and pressed their hands to his forehead. “I love you. Arthur or Harry, I love you. I would pay _any_ price to have you back again, here with me. Please my love,” he pleaded quietly, “please wake up.” 

Merlin let his tears fall, soaking the sheets, the hum of machinery covering the sounds of his sobs. A time later he carefully lowered Harry’s hand back to the bed, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “I’d even be happy if you woke now,” he said with a small smile, “with me here covered in snot.” He looked about the room for a tissue, and stood, placing a gentle kiss on Harry’s lips. “Even at our worst,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t care, as long as you were here.”

Tissue found, Merlin turned back to the bed wiping at his nose … and froze. Harry looked back at him, uncovered eye confused. “Emrys? What’s happened, where am I?”

“Arthur?” Merlin squinted, dropping hard into the chair beside the bed. “Is that really you? 

“Of course it is, who else would it be?” His brow furrowed as he looked around the room, struggling to sit up in the bed. “Merlin! Valentine … he must be stopped, the church …”

Merlin placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back against the mattress. “I know Harry, I know. We’ve dealt with him. Just breathe.”

Harry took a few deep breaths, reaching for Merlin’s hand, still on his chest. “Emrys, how can I be here? How can … “ He grimaced, clutching Merlin’s hand. “I can remember everything. The Round Table, the battle. But also Harry? The Hart’s and Kingsman? How?”

“It doesn’t matter Arthur,” Merlin said, fresh tears streaming from his eyes. “All that matters is you are here and you remember.” He lifted Harry’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. He laughed, suddenly, rolling his eyes. “Christ! Only Harry fucking Hart would be late to his own return.”

Harry scowled, but it lasted only a moment, soon joining Merlin’s laughter. He grimaced in pain, and Merlin immediately called for a nurse. They quickly had Harry settled again, the staff pleased to see him awake, but warning to take it easy. Chastised, Harry reached out for Merlin’s hand, smiling when the other man entwined their fingers. 

“I heard you, you know,” he said, hesitantly. “Eggsy and Roxy, talking to me.” He looked up at Merlin, “and you as well Emrys. Your voice was clearest of all.” He paused, searching for the right words. “You were right, I did know it was love that tied us all together. Not just the Table, but you and I. It ties us together still.” Harry’s was voice nearly a whisper, “I would very much like to tell you I love you. Arthur or Harry,” he shook his head, “whatever I am called, all of who I am is in love with you.”

Merlin reached with his free hand to Harry’s cheek, careful of the bandages. “And I you, king or man.” He settled again at his king’s side, resting his head on one hand while stroking Harry’s with the other. He watched Harry fight to keep his eyes open, still amazed seeing that spark of recognition he had missed for so long. “Sleep now love, we will all be here when you wake.”

-

Roxy pulled a face as she entered the Table room, Eggsy and Percival close behind. “I thought we talked about this? No snogging in the office?”

Harry turned in Merlin’s embrace to face the younger Knights. “It wouldn’t be a problem Lancelot, if you weren’t early for everything.”

Merlin laughed, giving Harry a squeeze. “Actually my king, _we_ are late.”

Eggsy sat in his chair, putting on his glasses. “Besides Rox, they’re kind of adorable. In an old geezer sort of way.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, extricating himself from Merlin’s arms. “Old geezer, _please_.” Sitting in his chair, Merlin settling to his right, he pointed a finger at the young man. “Don’t forget who plans your missions, Bedivere.” 

Roxy pouted, sitting in her own chair. “So many of us returned, I don’t know why they’re the only ones who get a happy ending.”

Percival rolled his eyes at the young Knight. “Do quit pouting Lancelot, it was never a good look on you, then or now. Guinevere is out there and we will find her. In fact, I have news.”

She perked up at that, snogging forgotten, as she peppered Percival with questions.

Merlin smiled when he felt Harry take his hand under the table. He watched as the other knights squabbled and joked, old arguments and allegiances colouring the present. He looked to his king, returned and whole, and felt something he had missed for a long, long time. He was happy. Grinning, he leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek.

Harry looked back, bemused. “What was that for?”

“All this time, I never thought I’d get it, happily ever after. But here we are, together.” 

Harry grinned, matching Merlin’s, and squeezed his hand under the table. “Together.”

Eggsy groaned, “Oh, come on! That’s worse than the snogging!”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:* **FIN** *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ﾟ･:*✧ﾟ･:*

**Author's Note:**

> Very big thanks to bosendorfer, the artwork is **amazing** and they very much helped me flush out this story. Some of the best bits were their idea!
> 
> And thanks also to [Red](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneRedDragon/works) and [Sway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway/works) for the beta, the second sets of eyes helped a lot!


End file.
